We are myopic,
by nature;
stuck in our world
of minutes,
days,
years.
Moments to us;
meaningful each.
The universe looks on in disdain.
Our moments
are but a stuttered breath,
the pause between heart beats;
inconsequential all.
The mayfly stares in wonder;
our meager collection
of moments
defy its comprehension.
Its life is spent
watching us waste seconds
it holds so dear;
precious beyond our perception.